Experimental Purposes
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: Sherlock as a teen. I do not own these characters.
1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock was 13, he became fully independent from needing anyone's permission or approval. He left the house when he wanted or needed, he got home when he wanted or needed. He had access to the cars and was fully capable of walking himself to town. He didn't need help or anything; he lost his lisp so he was more confident in what he did. By now, Sherlock became happier.

Then, he became invisible. Partly or purpose, partly on accident. The purpose part was at school. He didn't like to be noticed. He had no friends, he didn't then have any enemies. With that, he was fine.

On accident he became invisible to his mother and Mycroft. Mycroft was almost 20 by now, long time moved out of the house and on his own. Sherlock didn't see him much. But his mother, she didn't show him as much attention as she used to. He wasn't a baby anymore, she knew that. She couldn't baby or smother him. She let him do as he pleased and didn't stop him.

For the most part, Sherlock liked that.

Then, he wanted to conduct a small experiment to see just how invisible he really was. He began at school. Until now, Sherlock wasn't into fashion at all. He always wore regular, long sleeve t-shirts, jeans, and scarves. He didn't care all that much, with his disheveled hair he usually looked like a kid that didn't live in a giant house in the richer parts of town.

His first experiment was a clothing test. He pulled out the shirt his mother got him to wear for Christmas last year that he refused to wear. It was a deep purple button up that was probably 10,000 thread cotton. He thought it was ill fitting, a little too tight, but there was a man in a magazine he found in his mother's room that was wearing a shirt just like it and that ill fitting. So he slipped it over his shoulders and slowly buttoned it.

"This is absurd," he muttered to himself, "I look ridiculous." He buttoned his shirt to his neck, then unbuttoned the top two. "Really? My neck exposed for attack?" he nodded at himself in the mirror and brushed his hair down. He put his coat on and left.

Multiple kids at school noticed, mostly girls. A few girls stared at him and his exposed neck all day. One girl, at the end of the day, told him he looked very nice and she liked she change. Sherlock half smiled at himself, but what really got his blood pumping and his forehead glistening with nervous sweat was when a boy from the grade above him, named Jack, shoved him into the lockers and kissed him. The boy quickly left, obviously embarrassed, but Sherlock stood catching his breath and smiling wide.

Obviously a good change. Sherlock had a new love for soft button ups.

The next experiment he decided to conduct was at home. It was a bigger, more drastic change, so Sherlock let it slide in gradually. It was light at first, he left the bleach in his hair for only a few minutes. It was an obvious lighter brown to him, but someone would have to be really be staring at him to notice.

One person noticed: Jack.

"What'd you do to your hair?"

"Bleached it for experimental purposes."

"Pity. I liked the black."

Three days later he bleached it again, this time making it a red-ish color, close to Mycroft's. Everyone noticed this, except his mother. He hadn't even seen her that day, she suddenly became busy with business things Sherlock didn't care for.

Their maid noticed, though. He was standing in the kitchen, his back turned to her when she came in. She dropped the tray she was holding and gasped, startling Sherlock and making him turn around.

"M-mister Sherlock? What in God's name have you done to your hair?"

"I dyed it, experimental purposes."

"Your mother's going to kill you!"

"She won't notice."

"She pays more attention to you than you think, dear boy."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Besides, your brother will certainly notice."

"Ha!" Sherlock laughed as he washed his hands, "Right."

The maid just sighed and left Sherlock in the kitchen.

His mother didn't notice. In her defense, she only saw him three times in four days. On the fourth day, he came out of his room with very, very blonde hair, wearing a black button up and blue jeans.

"Oh my goodness, Mister Sherlock!" his maid yelled at him from down the hall. He grinned and went downstairs, where Mycroft was waiting to take him to school.

When Mycroft took sight of him, he spit the juice he was holding in his mouth onto the floor. "What the hell did you do to your head?"

"I dyed it for experimental purposes."

"What? Why? Mother!" Mycroft called for their mother.

"No use, she's not here."

"Where is she?" Sherlock shrugged. "Well, come on. You're going to be late, which means I'm going to be late." Sherlock picked up his bag and followed Mycroft. "And I'm taking you to the barber shop later. Or the salon, whichever will change your hair back to normal."

"Why? Now I match you."

Mycroft stopped, turned around, and looked at Sherlock. "Please, Sherlock. That's not the reason you did this. Mother's just very busy right now, ok? You don't need her watching your every move and she knows that."

At school, everyone stared at Sherlock. If they didn't already think he was a freak, they did now. He did look ridiculous, but he was willing to do anything for the sake of proving his hypothesis correct, his hypothesis being he is invisible. So far, he was only invisible to the one person he didn't want to be invisible to: his mother.

Sherlock heard a deep voice behind him. "Pretty little blonde boy," he said, "Are you going to keep getting more and more blonde?"

"No, I don't think so. I think this is it."

Jack pushed Sherlock against the locker again.

"You know, you don't have to push me," Sherlock said, struggling against Jack's grip, "I'm perfectly capable and willing to do anything on my own."

"Habit, I guess."

"Habit? It's happened twice."

"I can make it a habit." Jack brushed his lips against Sherlock's. "But I can tell you like it."

"No, I'm just willing, and-" Jack cut him off by kissing him again.

They made out against the locker until a teacher came and told them to stop. The entire time, Jack's hands were in Sherlock's hair. Part of him regretted turning it blonde, but at the same time he remembered that nothing and nobody can get in the way of his experiments.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft's car picked him up from school and took him to Mycroft's office.

"What am I doing here?" Sherlock asked the driver.

"Mr. Holmes advised me to bring you here."

"I'm Mr. Holmes, and I want to go home."

"You're not the Mr. Holmes that pays me."

Sherlock huffed and got out of the car, slamming the door. He trotted up to Mycroft's office and barged in without stopping at his secretary's desk. She followed him.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes, young Mr. Holmes is here!" she shouted into the door as Sherlock stepped in and slammed it on her face.

"Why am I here?"

"I told you, I'm taking you to get it," Mycroft looked from his papers to Sherlock's head, "Fixed."

"I told you, I don't want it fixed."

"_I _told _you, _Mother's not ignoring you. She's just very busy."

"Doing what, exactly?"

Mycroft smiled and chuckled, "You don't need to know."

"I'm going home."

"You can't take my car home unless you get your hair changed back to normal."

"Nothing about me is normal, Mycroft."

"Who is he?"

"He?"

"The boy you were trying to get to notice you. This obviously isn't _just _about Mother."

"I-I-" Sherlock couldn't stop stuttering out of embarrassment, he cleared his throat, "I don't know what you mean."

"You shouldn't have changed for him."

"I didn't."

"Brother," Mycroft often calls him 'Brother' when he's trying to be caring, "Soon enough you won't have to change for the boy you want."

"I didn't."

"Whatever you say, Brother. Just don't change too much, ok? If he doesn't like you, if he didn't notice you before you went through all of this," Mycroft waved a hand up and down Sherlock's new, nicely clothed body and blonde hair, "He's obviously very shallow, and let me tell you something: men that are that shallow are not worth it because all they want is you physically, not mentally or emotionally. Your brain is far too important to waste on an idiotic boy."

"Thank you, Mycroft, but I assure you it's nothing like that."

"Ok, Sherlock."

"I'm leaving now."

"Not in my car, you're not."

"I'll get a cab!" Sherlock shouted as he exited Mycroft's office. He quickly turned back and went back to Mycroft, "Can I borrow some cash?"

Mycroft rubbed his eyes, "Just take a car."

The whole way home, Sherlock thought about what Mycroft said. He didn't realize it, even about himself, that he was seeking some sort of approval from Jack. But Mycroft was right, if he had to change for Jack then Jack shouldn't be worth it. However, Sherlock did like part of his change. The blonde hair was too much, but the shirts were nice. He looked more grown up, more clean, and sophisticated; like Mycroft. He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced. He looked ridiculous.

Sherlock's mother noticed his hair that night, right before dinner.

"Sherlock! What did you do?"

"Oh, Mother."

"Your beautiful black curls! Gone!"

"I know, I know."

"Why did you do this?" She grabbed at his head.

He pulled away, sighing, "Experimental purposes."

"What experiment were you trying to conduct that made you do this? When did you do this?"

He looked at her with the most pathetic blue eyes he could produce, without even meaning to, "Over a week ago."

His mother picked up on it right away, "Oh, Sherlock." She pulled him close for a hug.

"Anyway, the experiment was contaminated. I'll, I don't know, shave it or something in a few days."

"No, no. No hair is worse than blonde hair."

"You're suggesting I leave it?"

"Until it gets long enough to cut."

Sherlock sighed and sat down for dinner.

"You look more like Mycroft, my love."

Sherlock winced harder than he did in the car, "Yes, I know."

"It's all right, it'll grow back."

A month and a half later, Sherlock's roots came out long enough for him to cut it and it didn't look ridiculous. Jack stopped talking to him after that, and Sherlock fully realized that Mycroft was right. From then on, Sherlock decided not to care what other people thought whatsoever. If a boy didn't like him for him, who cares? If a person didn't like his marvelous brain, who needs 'em?

Sherlock didn't think about that experiment until eight months after John moved it. Sherlock was slipping on his blue jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. He learned how to relax and not be so uptight when he and John were having a night in. He smoothed over his t-shirt and smiled at himself in the mirror.

"He likes me for who I am," he whispered to himself.


End file.
